


Yeah, I Can Do That

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Depression, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: Bucky finds it weird that Clint's gone silent. When Clint doesn't show for a meeting, Bucky goes looking





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to help with my own struggles with depression in the last couple of weeks. Un-beta'd and barely proofread. Cross posted to my tumblr.
> 
> This takes place in some vague AU that I haven't quite developed yet.

Bucky had been a full member of the team for about six months the first time it happened. 

 

Clint went quiet.

 

It took Bucky a few days to figure out why that bugged him.

 

It wasn’t the quiet of reserve prior to action. It wasn’t the quiet of mischief going on behind the sparkling blue eyes. It wasn’t the quiet of making everyone think he was dumber than he really way. 

 

It was just quiet. And it was weird. 

 

Once he realized that, Bucky started paying closer attention.

 

He noticed that Clint would be sitting and staring into space, even when the others were bustling around him. Bucky knew Clint could be stealthy as fuck and still as anything when he needed to be, but he usually wasn’t outside of missions or training. So it was weird to see him, or rather, stumble across him sitting absolutely still, doing nothing, in silence (the silence part wasn’t that weird; Bucky knew Clint would take his hearing aids out and watch TV with the captions on and sound off sometimes). No one else seemed to notice, though, so Bucky let it slide. 

 

They were called out, they saved the day. 

 

A couple of days later, Clint didn’t show up for a meeting, on the heels of Bucky only catching glimpses of him passing since returning from the mission. 

 

“It’s fine,” Steve said, after they waited for Clint to be 10 minutes late. “He doesn’t really need to be here.” 

 

But Bucky could see his disappointment. He looked over at Natasha while Tony tried to convince Steve that if Clint didn’t need to be there, then neither did he. She just frowned slightly as Steve and Tony argued. Bucky used the opportunity to slip from the briefing room and up to the residential level, and Clint’s door.

 

He was unsurprised to find the door locked. “JARVIS?” he asked, rather than bother knocking. JARVIS would either negotiate entry or tell him where to find Clint.

 

The door unlocked after a moment. “Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS said before Bucky could enter. “Master Barton is in the front room. And he doesn’t have his hearing aids in.”

 

Bucky nodded absently as he pushed the door open.

 

Clint’s rooms were dark, windows tinted to block out the light, blackout curtains kind of dark, save for a faint flickering light Bucky assumed to be the television. His eyes adjusted quickly as he took a few steps into the space, and his nose wrinkled a bit at the scent of unwashed male and dirty laundry that appeared the deeper he got into Clint’s space.

 

Bucky paused on the threshold into Clint’s living room. “JARVIS, is he awake?” he asked quietly even though his voice wouldn’t disturb Clint. He wasn’t sure if Clint would have sensed his presence or not based on his current state.

 

“Yes. He responded when I let him know you were here.”

 

“Responded how?” Bucky asked, taking in the sight before him.

 

“He...shrugged.” JARVIS seemed to hesitate between words, which Bucky could forgive, given the circumstances. 

 

In the glow of the silent television, Bucky could see a roughly Clint-shaped lump on the sofa, wrapped and bundled in layers of blankets. The coffee table was littered with empty cups, a pizza box, bowls with spoons still in them, and various bits of trash. The one clear space was a small dish holding Clint’s hearing aids.

 

Bucky crossed the room and stood in front of the television, casting a shadow across where he assumed Clint’s head was. When the lump on the couch shifted and Clint’s unwashed bed-head poked out of the nest of blankets, Bucky moved from in front of the tv to perch on the edge of the coffee table.

 

“Hey,” he said, signing at the same time, waving his hand to get Clint’s attention. 

 

It took a moment for Clint to acknowledge him with a slow blink, but he otherwise didn’t move or speak.

 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked and signed, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

 

The blanket bundle shifted, and Bucky could only assume that Clint had shrugged.

 

“We’re - I’m worried about you,” Bucky said. “Shit, I don’t know enough to sign. JARVIS?”

 

The pattern of light from the tv stopped and steadied into a blue glow. Bucky glanced over his shoulder to see his words appear as text on the screen. When he looked back, Clint was looking over Bucky’s shoulder toward the tv. That was something, at least.

 

“Look, uh,” Bucky said, suddenly feeling awkward. “Something’s wrong. You haven’t been yourself for awhile. And there was a briefing today you’re missing. And that’s not like you. And we’re friends, right?”

 

He waited for Clint to nod slightly.

 

“So,” Bucky said, “how can I help?” He pointed to himself, signed ‘help,’ then pointed at Clint while JARVIS put his words on the screen.

 

A hand snaked from the blanket nest and reached toward the small dish that held Clint’s off duty hearing aids. Bucky handed the dish over and watched as Clint slipped them in. 

 

Clint had to clear his throat, and even then, his voice was rough and low. “Can I…” he hesitated, his gaze sliding off and away from Bucky for a heartbeat before returning to Bucky’s face. “Can I have a hug?” he asked timidly.

 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Bucky said, shifting to rise from the table. Clint struggled up in his nest, making space for Bucky to join him on the couch. Bucky slid onto the couch, turning sideways and planting his left foot on the floor, curling his right under him. Clint slumped against him like he’d used all his energy just to sit up. Bucky curled his left arm around Clint’s shoulders (he guessed, under all the blankets). He used his real arm to trace circles over where he figured Clint’s back was, still feeling awkward about the whole thing, but Clint seemed to be gradually letting the blanket nest slip away.

 

They sat that way for a while before Bucky spoke again. “You wanna tell me what’s goin on?” he asked quietly.

 

“Just happens sometimes,” Clint answered after a beat. “Everything just seems to get to be so hard and pointless, so I just...stop.” He took a breath. “Hasn’t been this bad in a while though,” he admitted softly. “Usually I can pull myself along and out of it. This time, though…” he trailed off.

 

“It got away from you,” Bucky said, finishing the thought.

 

Bucky felt Clint nod. “Yeah.” He sighed. “Usually I can go to ‘Tasha, but she’s been busy enough without dealing with my shit.”

 

“She’s worried about you, too,” Bucky offered, though he wouldn’t have known any better without their silent exchange in the briefing room.

 

Clint shrugged again and they fell silent for a short time.

 

“I’m not gonna pretend I get it,” Bucky said quietly into the dark room. “We’ve all got shit goin on in our heads, and Christ knows I ain’t got mine on straight all the time,” he said with a wry smile, and he thought he felt Clint move a little in response. “But you can talk to me, y’know?”

 

“I. Yeah. Thanks.” 

 

Bucky squeezed Clint once more, and the other man sat up, letting the blankets fall away. 

 

“When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t cereal, pizza, or a protein shake?” Bucky asked as Clint scratched idly at his stubbled jaw.

 

Clint shrugged. “Haven’t felt up to cooking. Or eating, really.”

 

“Okay,” Bucky said with a nod. “You feel up to a shower while I pick up a bit and make us some real food?”

 

“You don’t have to-” Clint started to object and Bucky forestalled the argument by holding up a hand. 

 

“Stop.” He said. “If you really don’t want me to, that’s fine. But I’m just trying to help.”

 

Clint’s shoulders slumped as he let go a deep breath. “Right.” He looked up at Bucky. “Sorry. I-”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, poking at Clint’s shoulder with his flesh hand. “I”m starting to get it.”

 

Clint nodded and took another deep breath. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “Briefing?”

 

“I’ll talk to Steve,” Bucky said. “I ain’t gonna make you go,” he said with a shrug.

 

“Would you…” Clint trailed off again, and for a moment he looked young and sad in the light from the tv. “Will you stay? Just...watch tv with me or something?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered. “I can do that.”


End file.
